


Open Your Eyes

by AnneCumberbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Caring Sherlock, Cute Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Don’t copy to another site, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Fake Marriage, False Memories, Friends to Lovers, Loving John, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Pining John, keepjohnlockalivecompetition, morning sex almost, sherlocksmolmescompetition, writeforjohnlockcompetition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 16:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneCumberbatch/pseuds/AnneCumberbatch
Summary: Sometimes you don't know what you could have had until you lose it.Winner of the Fall 2019 #keepjohnlockalivecompetition by sherlockswolmes on Tumblr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol

“Open your eyes, John.”

John slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the bright light shining in through the window. He grimaced and closed them again, nestling back into the warm arms wrapped around him. Warm breath gently exhaled on the back of his neck and John twisted around in the embrace to look at his husband’s face, smiling softly in the morning light. “Morning.” John’s voice was gruff from sleep.

Sherlock nudged John’s nose, tilting his mouth to a preferable angle before pressing his lips to John’s. John hummed quietly and opened his mouth, wincing slightly at the thought of his morning breath, but the pleasure of Sherlock’s tongue gently gliding across his pushed those thoughts from his mind. Sherlock’s arms tightened around John as they pressed closer together, deepening the kiss. John hummed and rolled them backwards until he was lying on Sherlock’s chest, chasing after Sherlock’s mouth, as if it was his source of air. Sherlock moaned and his hand moved up until it was running through John’s hair, ruffling it from its sleepy patterns. John rolled his hips against the side of Sherlock’s hip. Sherlock’s hand reached down and grabbed his arse, pulling him closer. John’s own hands slid down Sherlock’s sides, skimming over lean muscle and smooth skin until he reached the elastic of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms. He hooked his fingers into the elastic and prepared to pull them down.

The door creaked open and small footprints pattered into the room. “Daddy! Time for breakfast!”

John released Sherlock’s mouth with a groan, falling away from him and onto his back. They both stared at the ceiling for a moment, before Sherlock caught John’s eye and smiled. “Breakfast time, apparently.”

John chuckled and exhaled softly, “Apparently.”

Rosie clambered up onto the bed and beat her hands against the mattress with enthusiasm. “Breakfast!”

John reached over and smoothed a hand through her little curls. “Alright, sweetheart. Go into the kitchen, Daddy will be right there.”

“And Papa.” Her little blue eyes regarded him quite seriously as if he was attempting subterfuge.

“Yes, of course, my lovely, and Papa.” John smiled at her.

Satisfied, she scooted off the bed and hurried into the kitchen. John heard the cabinets opening and the clunking of a pan onto the floor. He dropped his head back into the pillows and chuckled, turning his head to look at Sherlock. His husband was gazing at him in complete adoration. “What?”

“I just love you.”

“I love you too.” John leaned over and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s receptive lips, keeping it more chaste than either wanted it to be. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You always do.” Sherlock winked at him before swinging his legs off the bed and getting up. “Waffles?”

“Must I?” John collapsed back onto the bed, loathed to get up.

Sherlock pulled on his dressing gown and tied it around his waist. “It would be nice, considering the occasion.”

“What occasion is that?” John pulled his head up to look at him.

Sherlock paused and frowned. “You’re serious.”

John moved to sit up, mentally going through the calendar. “What’s today?”

Sherlock gaped at him. “John, it’s our anniversary.”

John’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

From the doorway, a little voice echoed, “shit!”

Two heads swiveled to the little girl standing against the doorframe, sticking her thumb back into her mouth and looking very pleased with herself.

“Don’t say that, Rosie, that’s a bad word.” Sherlock immediately reprimanded.

“But Daddy said it.” She said, pulling her wet thumb from her mouth and pointing at John.

“Yes, and Daddy is being very bad.” Sherlock gave John a glance as he moved to where Rosie stood and swooped her up into his arms. “Now let’s go get breakfast ready. _Daddy _will be making waffles.”

“Yayayay!” Rosie cheered and wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s neck as they disappeared into the kitchen.

John sat on the bed, watching them go. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten his anniversary. It was so unlike him to forget such an important day. The longer he sat, the more he realised not only did he not remember the day, but he didn’t remember the event. He didn’t know how many years he and Sherlock had been married. A panic rose in his chest, before his fingers tangled into the warm bedsheets to his left and the residual heat from Sherlock’s body calmed him. He must have just had too much to drink the night before and his brain hadn’t woken up properly. He exhaled and ran his hands over his face. Right. Enough time spent wasting time. He had a beautiful husband and an adorable daughter waiting in the next room for his culinary gifts.


	2. Chapter 2

“Open your eyes, John.”

John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock, sitting in his chair across from him, looking at him in amusement over the top of his book. “Did you say something?”

“What are you thinking about?” Sherlock nudged John’s thigh with the tips of his toes.

John moved his hand to cover them, running his fingers over Sherlock’s cold digits. He looked up at the warm light streaming through the windows of the sitting room, illuminating the familiar walls of patterned paper and their worn leather sofa with the union jack pillow carelessly tossed into a corner of it. Rosie sat near them on her soft baby blanket, playing with wooden blocks decorated in different colours and shapes. He turned his eyes back to Sherlock, who was dressed in his soft pyjamas with his blue dressing gown draped around him. “I was thinking about how lucky I am.”

Sherlock’s face softened. “I believe it is I who am lucky. Eight years of marriage, I never would have considered it.”

John nodded, looking around at their home. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“I don’t want you to.” Sherlock spoke softly, looking back down at his book. “You and Rosie have made my life perfect.”

“I couldn’t raise her without you. You’re a much better father than I ever could be.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You are a wonderful father.” Sherlock dropped the book into his lap in exasperation, clearly having had this discussion multiple times.

John held up his hands in defeat and Sherlock turned back to his book. John looked around their living room. It hadn’t changed since he had moved back in after Mary had passed. He looked at his daughter, playing with blocks on her baby blanket. Her chubby fingers grasping each block and examining it seriously before setting it back down and discovering another. As he looked at her, he felt a cold pressure in his chest. He coughed and was surprised by the hacking cough that emerged, shaking his body. Shivers ran down the nerves in his back and across his shoulders. He frowned at himself and looked up at Sherlock, who was looking at him with a concerned expression on his face. “Alright?”

John nodded, pressing a hand to his chest. His heartbeat was slow, very slow. “Fine. I think.”

Sherlock nodded, his eyes scanning John’s face. “Alright.” He turned back to his book.

John nodded. “Sherlock?”

Sparkling eyes looked up to meet his, “Yes?”

“How old is Rosie?”

Sherlock tilted his head fractionally to the right, his eyes growing sharp. “You know how old our daughter is, John.”

John chuckled nervously and pressed against the back of his chair. The cold pressure in his chest was worsening. “Yes, I know, but remind me.”

Sherlock’s eyes bore holes through him. “She’s almost two.”

The light coming into the room was greyer than he had originally thought it was. The wallpaper was losing its vibrancy and the walls almost seemed to have lost their definition. “She can’t be two, Sherlock. We’ve been married for eight years.”

“John, are you alright?” Sherlock moved forward into his seat, planting his feet onto the ground and looking into John’s face, a crease of concern wrinkling his forehead.

John put his hands on the fabric of his chair and inhaled sharply as he felt soft cotton beneath his fingertips instead of the patterned tartan of his chair. “Sherlock, what’s happening?”

  
Sherlock stood moved towards him, “John?”

Panic rose in John’s chest as the world rapidly started fading into grey. He reached out in panic for his husband’s hand, their fingertips just missing each other as he went up in grey swirls. John turned in horror as his daughter dissolved in front of him, dark swirls moving towards him. He heard the rushing of water and his breathing grew ragged as he felt cold water moving up his legs, engulfing his body in black icy nothing. Almost instantly, it was at his throat and he went under, the cold pricking the nerves all over his body as if he were on fire. The pressure in his chest continued building and building and building until he felt the world explode.


	3. Chapter 3

John opened his eyes, startling awake as every muscle in his body tensed. His hands moved suddenly to grab at his chest and grabbed at the thin cotton fabric sheathing his body. The harsh florescent light burned into his eyes as he struggled to be free of whatever was holding him down. His hand flopped up to his face and he tore off the oxygen mask covering his gasping mouth. Almost immediately, smaller white hands were covering his and pressing the oxygen mask back to his face. A familiar voice cried out platitudes and Harry’s face popped into his view. “John, it’s okay! You’re okay! Calm down for Christ’s sake, it’s okay!”

John blinked up at her, his body freezing in its struggle except for the shivers that seemed to persist despite himself.

“That’s right, Johnny, just breathe. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Harry nodded, brushing her fingers through his hair. “You’re okay.”

John managed to take a shuddered breath and Harry smiled softly down at him. “That’s right. Just breath, love.”

John moved his hands and slid the mask down off his face. “Harry…”

“That’s right.” A crooked smile broke out across her face. “Hello, you crazy man.” Harry’s short dyed-brown hair was sticking up at odd angles and her face was without its usual smear of red lipstick, the only thing decorating her face were the spectacular dark bags under her eyes. He ran his eyes over the room, noting an open suitcase that had been rooted through and a single chair from which Harry had obviously leapt up once he had woken. He looked back at her and rasped, his throat sticking to itself it was so dry. “Sh’lock?

She straightened, her eyes twitching in disappointment. “He’s not here, John.”

John’s forehead crinkled. He opened his mouth to speak, but started coughing, experiencing a deep rattling in his chest.

Harry reached to the side and offered him an ice chip to his lips. He took it into his mouth and closed his eyes in pleasure at the cool moisture running down his throat as the ice melted. “He hasn’t been here since they brought you in.” Harry murmured. “They dropped you off and called me and once I got here, he left. Said he had business to work out.”

John looked at her in utter confusion. His voice was soft, but he managed to talk clearly. “But he’s my husband.”

Harry gave him a look. “What are you talking about?”

John faltered. “… my husband.”

Harry felt his forehead. “John, you’re not making sense. You’re not married anymore. And definitely not to Sherlock. Mary died, remember? Just a few months ago.”

John blanched. “What?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s voice was soft as she moved her hand up to run it through his hair. “Molly has Rosie, but she’ll bring her round today if you like.”

“Harry, what happened to me?” John shifted in the hospital bed, suddenly hyperaware of his surroundings. “I don’t feel injured.”

“You’re not, really. You were suffering from hypothermia from being in a well, I think is what they said, and then you developed a fever and slipped into a coma. But your fever’s been gone for two days now, they’ve just been waiting for you to wake up. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I should get the doctors, okay?”

John nodded, sinking back into the mattress. “Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

John opened his eyes and started awake, the covers twisted around his body and limbs as he jerked into a sitting position. He looked up in a panic that faded quickly into confusion as he saw Sherlock standing in the doorway of his bedroom. “Alright?”

  
Sherlock was bouncing Rosie on his hip. “She needs a change and I don’t want to do it.”

  
John wiped sleep from his eyes and nodded. “Right, of course, sorry.” He went and took his daughter from Sherlock’s arms. “Thanks, love.”

  
Sherlock froze in the doorway. “What?”

  
“Hm?”

  
“What did you just say?”

  
John’s throat caught and he shoved down a wave of panic as he moved calmly to the changing table and laid Rosie down the padding. “I said thanks. How long was she awake?”

  
Sherlock waved a hand. “Not long. We ate breakfast.”

  
John nodded. “Ta for feeding her, you didn’t have to.”

  
Sherlock shrugged. “She was making noises on the monitor; I knew you haven’t been sleeping well.”

  
“Thank you.”

  
Sherlock nodded and disappeared downstairs. Once he was gone, John closed his eyes and exhaled softly, leaning his weight onto his hands against the changing table. Despite the four weeks since he had woken up and returned to normal life, the dream continued to haunt him, hovering in the background of his mind, taunting him with his utter lack of Sherlock’s love in this real life. Sherlock wasn’t interested in a relationship with him. He wasn’t. He was into petite dark-haired women with sharp features and sharper tongues. Irene. Janine. John didn’t fit anywhere in that description. Sherlock probably never even considered him an option. After all, he had abandoned John in the hospital during his recovery. Moments from the first year they knew each other floated in and out of his mind. Memories of eating out, running after each other in the dark, hands brushing beneath woolen coats, heavy whispers in dark corners just a heartbeat away from danger, just the two of them against the rest of the world. Whatever chance he may have had at one point, had completely disappeared. And John’s brain had decided it was a good idea to take his deepest hidden desires and push them to the top of his subconscious. Even though it had been a dream, living out that life turned out to be a greater form of torture than any pain John had ever felt. Having perfection held under his nose and then ripped away and given back to him in a formation that would never be what he longed for. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, remembering the taste and feel of dream-Sherlock’s lips against his, the warm heat of his body in John’s arms. He let out a shaky exhale and smiled sadly at his beautiful little girl. “It wasn’t real, was it, sweet girl. No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t real.” He smiled and nuzzled his nose against his daughter’s face, smiling as she babbled up happily at him. He scrunched his nose and nodded. “Oof, but your nappy really does need changing.

Downstairs, Sherlock paused, the red signal lights on the monitor moving up and down with the soft tones of John’s voice. What hadn’t been real?


	5. Chapter 5

John opened his eyes and looked down at his feet where Rosie was playing on the floor next to his armchair. Her yellow fleecy blanket was spread beneath her and she was playing with a stuffed bumblebee and making little singing babbling noises as she moved it from hand to hand. He smiled and leaned over, brushing his fingertips through her thin yellow curls. She looked up at him and held up the bee in her hand. “Da, bee!”

“Yes, my love, that’s a bee. Well done. Did Auntie Molly get you that toy?”

“No, Sher.” She frowned at him and shook the bee.

“Sherlock got it for you? That was kind of him, sweetness.”

“She lost one of her animals in the move to Baker Street.” Sherlock’s deep voice rumbled behind John.

John leaned back and looked at him. “That was still kind of you to get her a replacement. The bee’s cute.”

Sherlock nodded, gazing down at the small child who had gone back to playing. “They’re interesting creatures.”

John glanced down at Rosie. “What, bees, or children?”

Sherlock glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Both, however, I was talking about bees.”

John shrugged. “I guess.”

“When I retire, it would be nice to find a cottage somewhere with an apiary.” Sherlock mused as he wandered back into the kitchen.

John swiveled in his chair. “What?”

“An apiary is where bees are housed.” Sherlock waved a hand at him as he sat at the kitchen table in front of his microscope.

“No, I know that. But you’re thinking of retiring?” John got to his feet and stood by the back of his chair.

“Of course.” Sherlock peered into the microscope. “One can’t run the streets of London forever.”

“I can’t imagine you retiring.”

“I am getting older, John. And we can’t live here forever, Rosie will need her own space one day.” Sherlock murmured, adjusting the lens. 

John’s breath caught in his chest. “We’d go with you?”

Sherlock froze. “If you would like to. Of course, once I retire, my bedroom would be vacant, so you would each have your own space.”

“No.” John’s voice was sharp. “I can’t live here without you. If you leave... Rosie and I would probably move somewhere else as well.”

Sherlock looked up at him. “You will always have a home wherever I am, John. You and Rosie. If the country wouldn’t be too boring for you.”

John nodded. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

Sherlock gazed at him. “What did you dream about? When you were in your coma?”

John inhaled sharply. “What?”

“Your coma. You’ve alluded to some form of dream, yet you won’t tell me what it was about.”

“It was nothing. Tea?” John moved past him to the counter and put on the kettle.

Sherlock nodded and settled back at his microscope, aware of John’s presence behind him. He was thankful John was planning on accompanying him into retirement. However, he was all too aware of the fact that John was going to inevitably find a woman and marry again, leaving him and taking Rosie away from him. He had grown to cherish the small child who lived with them and he loved her as much as if she was his own daughter. He could already see in her eyes the kindness and wisdom of her father and the sharp intelligence of her mother. He had grown comfortable in their life at Baker Street, going out on cases at least once a week, but coming home to a warm welcoming domesticity that Sherlock had never dared dream of. The thought of John one day leaving caused grief to well up in his chest. He cleared his throat and firmly pushed it away. For now, John was still here. And so for now, Sherlock was going to enjoy every moment of it.


	6. Chapter 6

“Open your eyes, John.”

John opened his eyes, the world dark and blurry around him. Bright blue lights flashed in the corner of his eye. A cool leather glove patted his cheek and he turned his head slightly. A pale face surrounded by dark curly hair came into view and John blinked trying to gain focus. “John?” Sherlock’s voice trembled as he lay his palm flat against John’s cheek. “There you are. Stay with me.”

“Sher…” John struggled to focus on Sherlock’s face. “Hi… ‘ve missed you…”

“I’m right here, John. I haven’t been anywhere.” Sherlock’s face creased in concern.

“Missed you so much…” John’s voice trailed off as his eyes fluttered shut.

“No, no, no, keep your eyes open, John.” Sherlock shifted his position on the ground next to him.

John inhaled and forced his eyes open again. “Won’t forget our anniversary again, promise.” He mumbled through cold lips.

“What are you talking about, John? How hard did you hit your head?” Sherlock glanced up and waved over the paramedics.

“I forgot last time, but I won’t this time.” John murmured, waving a hand abstractly.

“Forget what?” Sherlock grabbed his hand, holding it tightly.

“Our wedding anniversary, silly.” John snorted quietly before falling back into unconsciousness.

Sherlock froze next to him in shock. The paramedics came and managed to push Sherlock out of the way as he stumbled back against the wall of the alley. Lestrade went over to him and grabbed his shoulder. “Alright? Are you hurt?”

Sherlock shook his head, dazed. “John thinks we’re married. And I don’t know why.”

Lestrade looked surprised. “Are you?”

“We’re not together at all.” Sherlock looked over at where they were transferring John onto a gurney. “He never seemed interested.”

“And you are?” Lestrade looked at him quietly.

Sherlock nodded. “I… Yes.”

Lestrade nudged him towards John. “Maybe tell him that, then.”

Sherlock didn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to broach the topic once he had met up with John in hospital. After an overnight stay, John was released to go back home. He didn’t mention what happened in the alley at all. He didn’t even seem to remember it, but Sherlock wasn’t sure. The potential of being with John was an overwhelming concept. As he walked behind John up the steps to Baker Street, Rosie having been safely deposited at Molly’s since the incident, he imagined how their lives would be if they were together. The constancy and warmth of John being a part of his life forever, without fear of someone else intruding upon their relationship. Being able to touch John, run his hand through his short hair, touch his hands, run a hand over his broad shoulders, smell him, press his nose into John’s soft neck, kiss him, place kisses all over his face, over his body, to touch him where only lovers had touched him, to become one with him, to hold him in his arms, to have John hold him, to have John love him, to have that warmth and affection concentrated solely on Sherlock.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s head snapped up as he realised in his daydreaming, he had stopped walking up the stairs and had paused on the eleventh step, staring off into a future that he hadn’t realised he could have. “John?” He stopped, unable to speak further.

“You alright?” John stepped down a step and looked at him. “Are you hurt?”

Sherlock shook his head, still staring at nothing at all, partially lost in his thoughts. “Why did you think we were married?”

John blanched. “What?”

Sherlock took a step towards him, regaining his senses. “In the alley. You thought we were married, and you were concerned about missing our anniversary. Again. You said again.”

John took a step back. “You must have misunderstood. I must have thought you were someone else. 

Sherlock took another step towards him. “Neither of those things happened.”

John swallowed. “I’m going to make some tea.” He abruptly turned and went into the kitchen.

Sherlock followed him, suddenly emboldened. “John, do you want a relationship with me?”

“We have a relationship.” John’s back was to him as he fumbled with the kettle.

“A romantic relationship.”

John nearly dropped one of the mugs as he took them down from the cupboard. “We don’t have to talk about this. 

“I think we do, John.” Sherlock braced himself on the backs of one of the kitchen chairs. “Do you want that with me?”

“I’m not an idiot, alright?” John shot back, his tone growing harsh. “I know the kind of person you’re into. I know. It was just a dream I had when I was in a coma, it means nothing. I know you could never return my feelings. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, please, just let it go and let’s not talk about it.”

Sherlock felt as if the world had shuddered to a stop. Return feelings. Implying John currently had feelings. John had feelings right now. About Sherlock. About a romantic relationship with Sherlock. John had romantic feelings towards Sherlock. The future he had just imagined suddenly became more concrete, moving from wishful hypotheticals into potential goals.

“Sherlock?” John turned to look over his shoulder, his face crumpling in grief as he met Sherlock’s eyes, morphing into confusion as he saw the expression of hope on Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock?”

“John, I want a romantic relationship with you.” Sherlock whispered into the abyss between them.

John looked completely taken aback. “You _what_?”

“I want to be in a romantic relationship with you.” Sherlock straightened, his voice a little stronger.

“Is this real?” John squinted at him. “This isn’t a dream?”

“I hope not.” Sherlock moved around the table and stepped towards him 

“I thought you weren’t interested in someone like me?” John took a small step towards him.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Sherlock murmured, reaching a hand out to brush John’s cheek.

John shivered and shrugged. “Irene, Janine. You have a type.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, _you_ are my type. I never felt anything for either of them.”

“Me?” John looked up at him, moving his hands to rest softly on Sherlock’s hips.

Sherlock moved his body closer until they were almost touching. “Open your eyes, John. It’s you. It’s always been you.” He leaned down and his lips brushed John’s gently.

John reached his arms up and around Sherlock, pulling him into an embrace, but also pulling his mouth firmly against his own, letting his lips separate and their tongues slide together. Sherlock wrapped an arm around the back of John’s shoulders and pulled him in tightly, keeping a hand pressed against the smooth skin of John’s cheek, deepening the kiss. After a moment, John pulled back to take a breath and looked into Sherlock’s face, his pupils dilated, his skin flushed, and his lips puffy and red from being kissed. “I see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who voted for me in Oct 2019. I really appreciate your support! 
> 
> Comments, questions, and critiques are always welcome. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, and critiques are always welcome. Thank you so much for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Open Your Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190109) by [Podfixx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Podfixx/pseuds/Podfixx)


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